Prologue
Sin
Three Years Ago
* * *
“I told you, Siobhan,” my father yells at my mother. “You will not disgrace the Brandt name.”
Shit.
Dumping my backpack, I sprint the length of the hallway, skirting around the final corner in time to see my mother staggering to her feet.
Like a true Irishwoman, she doesn’t back down from my power-hungry mob boss father.
“No, you talked about this, Aaidan,” Mom slurs. “I didn’t have any say in the conversation. You barked orders and expected me to comply like you always do.” She chugs half her wine in one go and points at him with the glass in her hand. “Well, guess what? I’m not taking orders from you anymore.”
“Sit the fuck down, woman.” Dad yanks the glass from her and hurls it.
I dive between her and Dad. The glass shatters against the wall, and shards slice my arms and cheek, but I ignore them. “Mom, chill.” She knows better than to disrespect Dad.
“No.” She stumbles, and I reach for her. Steadying herself against the kitchen counter with one hand, she bats me away with the other as she glares at Dad. “I won’t be silenced any longer.”
With his ever-present phone in his hand and disgust etched across his face, Dad shakes his head. “Get yourself cleaned up. You’re a fucking disgrace.”
Before I can stop her, Mom lunges.
Hurling herself at Dad, she drunkenly pounds her fist into his jaw “I hate you! I hate you.”
“You ungrateful bitch.” Dad backhands her.
The force knocking her down, Mom sprawls on the floor.
Hands fisted, I step in front of her and give my father one warning. “Leave her alone.”
Still on the floor, Mom doesn’t give up the fight. “If it weren’t for my boys, I would’ve left years ago!”
Ignoring her, the prick snorts at me. “What are you going to do about it, boy? You’re worthless. If it weren’t for my protection, you and this whore would be dead.”
“Whore?” Mom yells. “You disgusting pig, I’ve been faithful to you! And look where it got me—married to a murdering monster. Even one minute of freedom would be better than a lifetime with you.”
Dad stills. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.” Clambering to her feet, Mom rights herself. “I don’t love you. I never did.” She spits in his face.
Dad punches her.
Mom’s head snaps back, her body contorting in an awkward twist right before her temple slams into the countertop. The sickening crunch of flesh and bone colliding with granite echoes through the kitchen.
She hits the floor.
“Mom!” Dropping to my knees, I reach for her, but there’s so much blood. “Mom.”
Eyes open, body still, the concave, gaping wound on the side of her head bleeding out, she doesn’t answer.
“Do something,” I yell at Dad. “Call 911!”
The phone in his hand is now covered in her blood. Dad casually wipes it on his suit pants.
“Now,” I roar, futilely pressing my hand to Mom’s head, desperate to stop the bleeding.
Cold, unhurried, my father finally dials.
But he doesn’t call 911.
“Cillian,” he barks into the phone. “You’re needed at the house.” Glancing at his cell, he sneers in disgust as a drop of Mom’s blood runs down his hand. “And bring me a new cell phone.” He hangs up.
Mom’s already prone body suddenly goes completely still, and she stops breathing.
“Mom.” I shake her once. “Mom.”
No.
NO.
Rage and grief suck all the air from the room, and I can’t breathe. “You killed her,” I whisper, hoarse.
Grabbing a towel off the counter, he wipes his hand. “I’ll kill you too if you utter a word of this to anyone.” Collecting his keys, he tosses the towel at me and steps over Mom. “Clean up this mess. I’m going to the office.”
The motherfucker walks out.
Chapter One
TEMPLE
Four Months Ago
* * *
“Yo, anyone there?” a deep voice calls. “Dez? Where you at, man?”
I straighten from beneath the hood of the car I’m working on. “Dez isn’t…” Oh. My. God. “…here.”
Tall.
Built.
Hot as hell.
He’s the sexiest guy I’ve ever seen.
I wipe my hands on an oily rag when I really want to check my reflection to see if my hair is as crazy as I think it is. “What can I do for you?”
He scans my body, lingering on my hips. “Where’s Dez?”
“Out.”
“When will he be back?”
“In fifteen years.”
Pausing, he fixes me with a heavy stare. “I see.”
“I doubt it.” I haven’t exactly advertised the fact that my asshole father got put away for drug trafficking. It’s bad for business. So long as I keep the garage going, fix cars on time and at a good price, no one cares who’s doing the grunt work.
The stranger’s gaze lingers on the strap that’s come loose on my overalls. “You his apprentice or something?”
“Or something.”
The corner of his mouth kicks up. “Daughter.”
“Bingo.” As hot as he is, I need him gone. I’ve got three cars to finish, a heap of paperwork to fill out, and college application fees to pay. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“My car needs service.”
I take in the bright yellow, limited edition Ferrari 488 Pista behind him. “That model literally rolled off the production line a month ago.”
He shrugs.
“It’s brand-new. What could possibly be wrong with a three-hundred-and-forty-thousand-dollar ride?”
Staring, he doesn’t answer.
Since I’m in no place to knock back paying customers, I walk over to inspect it. But he quickly inserts himself between me and the car, forcing me to take a step back.
Pushing his hands deep in his jeans pockets, he leans against the side. “What time do you close?”
I pause. “Why?”
“A time, babe.”
“Babe? We met five minutes ago.” Needing his business more than I need an ego boost, I gesture to the hood. “Can you open it for me?”
“Sure.” He doesn’t move.
What’s with this guy? “Sometime this century would be good.”
He smirks. “I’ll open the hood, but it’ll cost you.”
Jesus. “Look, I’m sure women fall for the whole smoldering good looks, mental foreplay, and killer car combination, but I’m on a deadline here. Do you want me to look at your car or not?”
He leans in close, the scent of salt and sea spray emanating from his skin. “I’m taking you out. I’ll pick you up from here at eight.”
When I don’t answer, he tucks some of my hair behind my ear.
Shivers dance across my skin. “I never said—”